Sometimes the outside appearance of a building gives no clue to what the inside looks like. The Villa Elaine on Vine Street was not only an example of this but also a serious case of false advertising. From the outside it looked (and still does look) like a sleazy set for some old film noir movie. It stubbornly stood on Vine Street, right in between Fountain and La Mirada Avenues, an apartment building of dubious repute for many decades. I was nothing short of astounded when I’d heard it survived the Northridge quake back in ’94.
The building was my third and last residence in Hollywood in the spring and summer of 1982. I was really glad to get out of the Premiere Motel on Hollywood Blvd (the dive we were living in) until I saw this building for the first time. Then I wondered what the hell we were getting into. The front of the building was right up there hugging Vine; proudly presenting its ugliness to the street. It just vibed dangerous and it looked like it couldn’t possibly be a home for anybody. It had a wrought iron access door in the front, the kind you’d look over your shoulder several times anytime of the day or night, while fumbling for your keys to get in.
The VE, in-your-face on Vine Street
There were always old guys hanging out on the sidewalk, they seemed to be waiting for someone to let them in; or, for someone to come out, I could never tell. Some of them wore fedoras and ill fitting suits and had the kind of look that in 1982 was decades too late to be fashionable but still years too early to be considered retro.
This just added to the Otto Preminger vibe of the place.
Right inside the gate and past the slightly creepy (unlit, dank) entry tunnel on the left was a little store on the ground floor. It had a window facing out on Vine too, selling cigarettes and beer. It was another place you just had to get past to get to your apartment and to me this sucked because it was INSIDE the security gate. Weird.
But then, if you would, let’s take another few steps inside.
The “Villa” part that the name ‘Villa Elaine’ referred to was the inside. What a difference. There was a beautiful micro-jungle in the courtyard! The courtyard WAS the middle of the building, open air, 4 stories of apartments on the left and right, and pretty narrow. But it was filled with massive planters and a lot of what looked like tropical plants. There was a palm tree that stretched out over the top of the building. Several other trees (they were the skinny Italian-countryside type) and little grassy landscaped areas completed the picture.
Someone took a lot of time maintaining the courtyard but apparently they were never allowed to take their talents outside of it. The paint was peeling on the outside and on Vine Street itself there grew a tree (the only one on that block) big enough to mostly obscure the name of the building (over the gateway) from anyone across the street. Being the only tree on that side of the block, it looked like it was put there to hide the decrepitude that, by 1982, was the exterior.
At the back of the courtyard there was a pool (it was also well maintained and secluded), which was definitely another plus. The courtyard level apartments were brick faced, each with their own arched entryways. It was like a row of bungalows on the left and right, each with its own little mailbox on the left. I found out years later that the one next door to us was once the residence of Man Ray back in the 40’s or 50’s. And that Orson Welles had lived in the same building for awhile too (both guys seemed like they’d fit right in, wearing fedoras out on the sidewalk).
You could enter each apartment from a verdant green peaceful zone that you couldn’t believe was right in the middle of Greater Hollywood. And luckily for us, we’d scored one of these exclusive bungalows.
Each one was a split-level; so it had a stairway going up to a second floor bedroom, and really high ceilings in the living room. I thought that was the greatest, a 2 story apartment, and as such was a real difference from our Ranch-Style Lido flat. The kitchen was massive and very 50’s looking and even had a back door leading to a cramped concrete alleyway in between the VE and another building. I treated that area like a back yard while I was there; taking my model cars out for painting (the fumes drove my mom nuts).
But just as there was this dichotomy between the inward and outward appearances of the Villa Elaine, there was also one with the apartments themselves.
Now…. let’s rewind, we’ll back up outside again and reenter the building.
After passing the creepy tunnel, if you took a left past the store you’d go into the main lobby. There was an elevator there that took you up to the other floors, the other apartments, the hidden rest of the building. You could go up there and it was like the outside of the building all over again. Dark hallways with nondescript doors led to run down little apartments. There were a lot of roaches too. It was hard to believe all this stuff was in the same structure.
It was like the reverse of a rotten apple; here the core (the courtyard) was great and everything outside of it (at least in ’82) looked ready for the wrecking ball.
When I lived there I stayed in the courtyard, our fancy villa apartment, and the pool. I’d quickly (with my head bowed down) scurry out onto Vine, cross to Fountain then casually stroll to school in the morning; then after school; slowly walk back up Fountain until I got to Vine, then quickly scamper back inside. There was a great Music Plus across the street on the left and a Bob’s Big Boy with a really big Big Boy statue a block or two to the right. The legendary arcade Rock City was just a few blocks walk away. Importantly, I could see the Hollywood Sign from Vine.
So, my building had a good location as far as I was concerned; and Vine Street became my little neighborhood.
I’d hang out in the Hollywood Public Library, that is, until it burned down in April of ’82. But not before I had checked out and read every Hardy Boys Mystery they had; I may have considered them a little lame and beneath me but I kept checking them out, chasing the high from the first in the series I’d read a few years before.
Otherwise I’d divide my time between Music Plus and the McDonalds on DeLongpre (where they’d introduced this thing called the “McNugget” early that year, we were pretty excited about that). Then I’d head back home (hurriedly and embarrassedly entering through the front gate) then enjoy again the mystery of the courtyard and the different lighting aspects it always gave to the middle of the building (it was even tastefully lit at night too, with spotlights on the trees).
I REALLY liked not getting the “fussy end off the lollipop” (residentially speaking) for once in my life. My memories of this place are very fond because I felt like I lived on the nice side of the tracks, at least for a bit.
A couple of my school friends had heard of this place and they’d said with pity “oh man, you live at the V.E.?!” until I brought them over and let them inside. They couldn’t believe the courtyard either and grudgingly conceded it might be a cool place to live after all.
The inside reminded me of “Sunset Boulevard” but with no floater in the pool (thank goodness). We even had a struggling actor neighbor that we befriended, named Terence Knox. He also had a courtyard apartment and we’d see him out by the pool, he was a nice guy. He was living at the Villa Elaine when his big break came and he landed the role of Dr. Peter White on “St. Elsewhere.” He was excited as he came over to tell us the news and we congratulated him. He’s been a busy actor ever since.
I remember a lot of fun times, finding a puppy that turned into a huge St. Bernard (we couldn’t keep him); watching the last episode of M*A*S*H, and listening to a ton of Vin Scully called Dodger games on my portable radio. But, as with all places, my time in this virtual retreat couldn’t and didn’t last forever. For we moved again, this time to Florida.
I returned to LA for visits in 1989, 2000 and 2008, every time visiting the VE but never being able to get inside to look around. I wanted to show somebody, anybody, just how weirdly different and out of place it was in there, like some botanical biosphere, and to prove to myself I wasn’t just ‘misremembering.’ For all I knew, and owing to the unchanging feel of the place, the entry key we had back in ’82 might have let me in again all those years later (another reason to never throw away keys).
So I just had my memories to rely on, of how strange and wonderful it was for me back then, when I was 14 years old. And even now this time capsule of a building remains, a forgotten sentinel of Old Hollywood, surviving in limbo, somewhere between historic preservation and the bulldozer. A lot around it has changed but it is the same, the tree out front, maybe slightly more modern looking hobos on the sidewalk, even the same sign.
Back in the late ‘90’s a band called Remy Zero released an album called “Villa Elaine.” Apparently they were living there at the time of the recording. The cover photo is of the old Villa Elaine sign out front. I purchased it and listened closely, trying to glean some insight or nostalgia for that era. Nothing, zippo, no mention of the place or its crazy courtyard. It was a good record, I guess, but it turned out I was locked out of the place yet again.
